Moandays and Gargoyles

A sweet Sunday ends, the night is daft

Dark and in the distance, Monday waits

Like gargoyles, peering at mortals below

Whilst they mark those who they choose

Gargoyles, ugly ones

I hate Gargoyles, they are hideous but fathom a guess what else is ugly Mondays, ah the bane of the week

If I had to pick either

I would, neither

The mango tree next to my house bears some lovely raw juveniles, and a mix of infant mangoes

I bit one earlier today on my Sunday evening stroll, it was bitter, tasted like the upcoming Monday

I should have been a horticulturalist 

Growing mangoes, in my yard, back in my village

Away from these gargoyles and Mondays

Visiting farmer's markets, selling vegetables

About gargoyles though

Let me wonder, why does someone make them 

Those gargoyles perched on the edges of buildings

I wouldn't want my creation to be hideous 

And scary the least

But Mondays, the sludge of drudgery 

That no one likes, worse, I was born on one

But then I nurse the woes of the silly awry planners

Hoping to save a few pennies, creating money grabbing fronts

Called customer portals

Mondays, gargoyles, my lack of having studied harder hits me often

I now spend time, wishing the night doesn't fade

Lest Monday arrives

But it will, I guess I will chase my own gargoyles in the morning

Terrible ones

But then again, I love my misery

It makes life a tad meaningful, these paradoxes and challenges

It keeps life interesting

I grow bored of mediocrity quickly anyway

Nothing less than being under duress works

Adds a lovely smile to my soul

So come Monday, we will be fine

I have prepared myself to handle you just fine

But you Gargoyles, you stay clear away

I have nothing to do with you all